“Of leadder, sir?—of leadder? What was that for me?”
“Why, ma’am, it was so big and so heavy, it was as much as I could do to lift it!”
“Well, that was nothing from me! when it was so heavy, you might let it alone!”
“But, ma’am, Colonel Wellbred said it was somewhat of yours." “Of mine?—O, ver well! Colonel Wellbred might not say such thing! I know nothing, Sir, from your leadder, nor from your bed, sir,—not I!”
“Well, ma’am, then your maid does. Colonel Wellbred says he supposes it was she.”
“Upon my vord! Colonel Wellbred might not say such things from my maid! I won’t not have it so!”
“O yes, ma’am; Colonel Wellbred says she often does SO. He says she’s a very gay lady.”
She was quite too much amazed to speak: one of her maids, Mrs. Arline, is a poor humble thing, that would not venture to jest, I believe, with the kitchen maid, and the other has never before been at Windsor.
“But what was it?” cried Miss Port.
“Why, I tell you—a great, large lump of leather, with ‘Madame Schwellenberg’ wrote upon it. However, I’ve ordered it to be sold.”